Am I Yours?
by E Salvatore
Summary: She's not his Olivia. She can't be. But… he isn't so sure anymore. And neither is she. Round Three of my SWB Initiative.


**AM I YOURS?**

**She's not his Olivia. She can't be. But… he isn't so sure anymore. And neither is she. Round Three of my SWB Initiative.**

* * *

><p>"How do I know you're not lying?"<p>

They're in her apartment – a comfortingly familiar setting. He'd been released into Walter's custody just two weeks ago, having been declared a helpful consultant as opposed to a threat to national safety. Evenings were normally spent with Walter as the brilliant madman rattled on about the many ways of making custard and the precise shade of blue that all decent homemade taffy should be, but not today.

A new case had sent the team to New York, their other playground, and it had taken them less than 36 hours to solve their newest crazy case. Walter had been adamant about remaining in New York for the weekend; there was some sort of fair going on and apparently Astrid had promised to take him, leaving Olivia and Peter – who refused to stay in the city for a children's fair – to their own devices. And of course Peter has to stay with Olivia because he's a child who might decide to run off at any moment. Not.

Two glasses of wine washed down by a third and Olivia's inquisitive nature has come out to play; she shoots question after question until every single memory of their life together is laid at her feet, a timid, hopeful offering to a cold and distant goddess.

And for one moment – one split-second of lying to himself – he sets himself up for heartbreak, mistaking her silence for acceptance.

Until she questions his precious memories; the only memories he has left of them to tide him through this strange, unknown existence. _How do I know you're not lying?_ She thinks their life together is a lie. She thinks his memories are lies. She thinks his love for her is a fucking lie.

"You think I'm lying." He is seething; angry to the point where he is deadly calm, the eye of a storm.

"Try to put yourself in my shoes," Olivia starts, and it is another stab to his heart to see just how much of a stranger he is to her; how she can't even tell he's pissed. "First, I dream of you. Then Walter sees you. Now I have a total stranger who claims to be-"

"Why don't you put yourself in my shoes, _sweetheart_?" He snarls, and her eyes go wide because he has never, never treated her this way. They've been throwing crap at him throughout this whole fiasco, and he's taken it quietly, trying to work through all of this bullshit to find a solution.

There is no solution; it has taken him this long to figure that out. And the sudden revelation serves only to build up his rage; add fuel to the towering fire he struggles to contain.

"I play martyr to save the worlds and leave behind the love of my life," It hurts her when he says that; he likes that, the way her eyes flash in pain just like his do when she ignores his existence and his feelings. "Then I get thrown fifteen years into this fucked up future, and guess what? You die. We're married and talking about kids and then you die, Olivia. _I. Buried. My. Wife_." Each word is punctuated by a distinct growl and an underlying tone of grief; grief so strong and crippling that he has to ignore it or it will incapacitate him.

"So let's put ourselves in my messed up shoes, and think of it this way: I let my father, the most hated man in the world who's out from prison with maximum security guarding him 24/7, throw me back into the past. Then I rip holes in both universes to change the future, a future where you were killed by my biological father."

He can see tears glistening in her eyes but he can't bring himself to stop; now that she has made him feel like shit for weeks now – now that she doesn't love him.

"And I save you. And a whole other world, but most importantly, you, Olivia. I saved you. But the price is getting wiped out of existence. Fucking erased. And maybe I should've been erased completely, but you wouldn't let me go, Olivia. You're the one who kept thinking of me. That hole that you run around telling people about? It's me."

A sob escapes her; a tightly muffled sob, but a sob nonetheless and it hurts – it actually hurts because he wants, so badly, to just hold her and make her feel better and make her let him love her. But she won't, and he's been trying for weeks now, so this is it. This is how it's going to be – he's tried begging and pleading and everything else but now it's time to quit and just release his anger.

"You forgot me, Olivia. You fucking forgot me." She flinches every time he snarls and growls and if he didn't know better, he'd worry about scaring her. But he does know better and he knows he isn't scaring her – he's hurting her, the way she's hurt him.

"How could you?"

And there it is: the heart of the matter. She forgot him, and that hurts. That hurts more than anything because even when Walternate and his team of psychopaths had fooled her into believing she was someone else, she had still seen him. And she had come back to him.

Not anymore; not now.

"So I'd appreciate it," He huffs, spent. "If you would just stop being so fucking self-centered for just a second and see it my way, because it hurts, Olivia. And I may be sick and twisted, but even I would never lie to cause myself this much pain. So no, I'm not lying to you."

He gets up to leave; he needs some freaking air and space and time. She jumps up, tears mapping a continuous path down her cheeks, to restrain him. "Peter, please-" She's choking on unspoken words; words that hang like a thousand blades between them.

_Peter, please don't leave. Peter, please don't hate me. Peter, please make me remember._

_Peter, please love me._

"I'm sorry, 'Livia."

_I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm sorry, I'm angry but I will _never _hate you. I'm sorry I can't make you remember._

_I'm sorry I love you so much it's hurting both of us._

He slams the door behind him because when two hearts break, they should be heard falling apart.

* * *

><p>She has never cried this badly.<p>

To hell with slow tears rolling down her cheeks; she is full-on sobbing and wailing and _hurting_, so, so badly.

He loves her.

For once in her life, someone – no, Peter – loves her. He loves her so much that it's crazy and past any sort of boundaries she's ever heard of. He loves her so much it transcends timelines and universes. He loves her so much he won't give up on her, even now, even as she slowly and meticulously carves up his heart in the most painful way possible.

His memories are so heartbreakingly beautiful that she hadn't been able to accept them, because accepting the memories would mean accepting the fact that she's forgotten and that is entirely too painful to even think of – is Fate really that cruel, to give her the most beautiful love and then rip it away from her while she drifted in oblivion? No; no, because no one and nothing should be capable of such an act. And so she'd rejected them and accused him of lying although she hasn't ever seen someone more sincere and truthful than him; the look of total honesty and love in his eyes had made her heart leap and jump and do a freaking happy dance.

She accused him of lying; tainted his most cherished memories; broke his heart.

And somehow, in breaking Peter's heart, she has managed to break her own, because it is only now that she sees the truth: these two hearts are inextricably linked.

And she's shattered both of them.

Oh God, what has she done?

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><p>Olivia is like a drug to him.<p>

Or maybe she just wields some kind of magnetic pull over him, because it isn't long before he finds himself standing in the middle of the familiar street, and then climbing up the handful of staircases that lead to her main door. And then he's inside, and it's dark, and he can hear the thudding of rapid footsteps even as she runs to him from a different room.

She slams into him and he is glad that he had thought to brace and steady himself when the tell-tale thump of her bare feet against the floor had sounded out. She gasps in relief and mumbles muffled apologies into his shirt, and so he pulls back to listen to her, because he always will, no matter what.

But maybe they need some sort of dictionary or something between them, because she misreads him and immediately stumbles backwards, the threat of rejection sufficient to have her throw up her walls even as her tears escape her eyes and she chokes on her cries.

"Olivia, no." He steps forward and pulls her reluctant and rigid form into his arms, savoring each moment of her melting into him as he whispers hushed endearments and reassurances close to her ear, hating the sight of her in pain when he had enjoyed it just an hour ago; when he had wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him just a while ago.

"Peter, please," Her voice is hoarse and he can tell it's not because she has been quiet for too long but because she has been crying too much in the last hour. "Please don't leave me. I know I'm being a horrible, selfish person but you can't leave me, ever."

She's right; Olivia is, for the first time in her life, being horrible and selfish but if that means she wants to keep him around, then he'll love this side of her, too, just as he loves every other side of her, because loving someone means accepting the fact that they have dark sides and twisted secrets. Loving someone means loving them not despite their flaws, but _because _of those very unique quirks; unique quirks and twisted secrets and dark sides that make Olivia _Olivia_.

But he also knows something else about Olivia: she can't be selfish; couldn't even if her life depended on it. And so when reality sets in and the foggy haze in her brain has been navigated through, he is left with another side of her – an insecure, lonely and terrified Olivia, one who is willing to let go of him if that is what she needs to do, even if it means breaking her own heart. He hates that her own heart doesn't mean much to her; that her own happiness is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things – to her, at least.

"Hey," He draws her closer, walks them over to the couch where he can sit her down next to him and keep her in his arms. "Hey, 'Livia," He whispers now, trying to soothe her; his harsh words from an hour ago will be something that he'll regret for as long as he lives.

"Please, sweetheart. I'm here; I'm not leaving you, ever, okay? Please calm down," He runs a hand through her hair, smoothing it down and hopefully, calming her. "Please, Olivia. I can't bear to see you like this." He admits, and it's true: this very sight is causing him physical pain; Olivia should never be this upset – never.

Sobs turn into gentle tears and she sniffles as her breathing slowly turns steady; she doesn't release her grip on him because she fears that he might leave any second now, and she will be empty forever – incomplete.

But in that very instant she wants to pry herself apart from him and put a hundred worlds between them and just forget him, because maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there is another Olivia Dunham who's heartbroken and lonely and incomplete – and maybe, just maybe, this Olivia deserves Peter more than she does; remembers every single second they have ever spent together; cherishes every single word they have ever shared.

Her blood runs cold at the mere thought of having to let Peter go, because damn it, it's taken him all of a month to work his way into her heart and say all the right things to make her fall for him. And that makes Peter Bishop a very dangerous man, but it also makes Olivia Dunham a woman on the brink of just ending it all if he does walk away. And it is pathetic – it is pathetic and disgusting and deplorable – because this isn't her; this isn't the independent, solo, professional Olivia Dunham she has worked so hard to become.

Peter has turned her into a different person – a better person.

And she loves him – not just for that but for everything.

She _loves _him.

But she can't; shouldn't, because unless he can look her into the eye and tell her, with utmost confidence, that she is in fact his Olivia - unless she herself can believe that and know that she won't stay up at night, wondering if somewhere out there is an Olivia Dunham missing her Peter and crying herself to sleep - she is just setting herself up for the most devastating heartbreak in the history of heartbreaks.

And the thought of breaking her own heart – and his, and the other Olivia's - is enough to cause her grip to go slack and her body to withdraw into itself, a defense mechanism; a coping mechanism.

"Peter, I can't." She finally utters after an eternity of absorbing the hurt on his face; she doesn't want to hurt him – never has and never will – but this is for the greater good. This is for the greater good and for Peter and his rightful Olivia and so she can stand through saying goodbye, can survive this, because she will be safe in the knowledge that somewhere out there, Peter and Olivia – an Olivia who isn't quite the same but not different enough to be an alternate version – are living their own happily-ever-after, and it will be something that his Olivia deserves, not something that she – this Olivia – has stolen from an oblivious woman.

And the thought of causing herself misery and loneliness and heartbreak for a lifetime is enough to empower her and arm her with words; words that are, unfortunately, punctuated with the odd sob and occasional tear, but strong words nonetheless.

"I can't," She stresses again, getting up and pacing nervously, even though her usual nervous tick is to just sit down and wring her hands together. "I… I don't know if you belong with me." But of course he does – no, she can't know that. "I don't know," A sob escapes her from within her very being, because she knows there is no turning back now – not anymore. "I don't know if I'm your Olivia."

Her voice turns _so_ very small as she speaks those last few words, and it is killing her, this thing that she has to do for his own good. But when you love someone, you're supposed to want what's best for them, right? And right now, Peter can't see what's best for himself; she's just helping him, pushing him in the right – wrong, for her – direction and future and Olivia – _his _Olivia, the one who is waiting for him.

"I don't know if I'm your Olivia," She repeats, and the truth of this hits her not like a thousand bricks, but a thousand blows to her heart; her small, battered and bruised and broken heart. "I can't do this to myself," And she knows he knows she isn't talking about this self, but the other one; the other Olivia.

"I'm not your Olivia," She inhales sharply. "And it hurts so much because I love you." And despite her words, and despite this entire situation, she can't help the tiniest of smiles that appears on her face, because she does love him, so very much. "I love you… but I can't honestly tell myself that I know I am your Olivia; I can't, because I might not be. And I can't do this to the three of us."

"What happens when she comes for you, Peter?" And she can see that he wants to correct her, wants to say _if _she comes for him, but she knows she will, this other Olivia, because it's what she would do, too; she would go anywhere for Peter, do anything. "Because she will; she will never stop looking for you and eventually, she will come." She adds confidently, even if this sense of conviction is killing her inside.

"And what then, Peter?

He doesn't know; he doesn't know and she wants to just fall into him and cry, because she doesn't, either. And he can't tell her none of this will happen, because he doesn't know, not for sure.

"Does she find out that she's been betrayed?" He flinches; he can't do that to Olivia, not again, and she knows. "Yes, she will. Do you leave me? Of course; eventually. And I will be hurt, and she will be betrayed, and you will suffer the most because of your unsuspecting love. And all of us will be miserable forever, Peter." She sucks in a deep breath; prepares herself. And then she speaks again.

"So I can't do this, Peter; I can't love you wholeheartedly and with a clear conscience until you can tell me, without the shadow of a doubt, that I am your Olivia."

And then she is still, unable – unwilling - to voice her question because then she would receive an answer in turn, and that might just kill her. But she is Olivia, selfless and especially so when it comes to Peter, this not-stranger she's in love with, and so she forces the words out; braces herself for the worst sight ever: of him walking away, and out of her life.

"So am I, Peter?" She whispers, because she honestly doesn't have it in her to say those words any louder than that. A childish hope –that he will miss those words – is embedded in her, even now.

"Am I yours?"

And his silence is the only answer she needs. She moves closer, fighting herself every step, until she is right in front of him. And then she leans forward and places a delicate kiss on his lips, before cupping one cheek in her cold hand.

"I will always love you," She promises, and then she is gone; locked away in her bedroom where she will cry in the darkness and resurface tomorrow, knowing that he won't be here; he never will again.

She wishes tomorrow will never come.

* * *

><p>Peter Bishop is screwed.<p>

Sitting there on Olivia's couch, it occurs to him that things will never be the same, even if this does turn out to be the wrong timeline and he returns to his Olivia – things will never be the same because he's fallen in love with this Olivia.

And so he is screwed.

It's not like he planned for this, or that he's not in love with his Olivia anymore; he loves her more than ever, his emotions intensified by this separation. But somehow this Olivia Dunham, slightly more broken, slightly more bitter, has made him fall in love with her.

But how different are they, really? Why can't she be his Olivia? Who says she isn't?

His Olivia spent her childhood in fear and let that exact fear shape her adolescence. This Olivia didn't spend her teenage years looking over her shoulder, simply because she had killed her step-father. And as far as he can figure out, that's the one crucial difference between the two Olivias.

His Olivias.

His Olivia.

They are one and the same, and he cannot believe he's missed this. Olivia has been _dreaming _about him, for crying out loud! She brought him back. She accepted him. She fell in love with him just like that, as if that love had always been there and she had just shrugged it on, like a well-loved, well-worn jacket. She is his Olivia, he sees that now.

And – oh, shit. His Olivia is crying in the darkness, breaking her heart with every single sob that rings across the empty apartment as he sits here, comatose thanks to his recent discovery.

And then he is up, running towards her familiar bedroom, knowing that he must make this right no matter what; this will be fixed and _his _Olivia will be happy and healthy and whole with him, and she will remember, in time.

"Olivia!" She's locked herself away and that won't do. "'Livia, open this door! Now!" He pounds on the door, desperate and afraid of being too late; Olivia is known for being set in her ways and her thoughts, but he has to change her mind; has to make her see that for once in her life, she is right – she is the perfect Olivia, not a cover or a lie or a poor second choice; she is his Olivia, the only one he will ever want.

"Now, Olivia! Please!" He doesn't waver; keeps hitting on the door until his fist hurts, and even then, he doesn't stop. "Olivia." He pleads, "Just open the door."

She's crying harder than before; he can hear that now. Resisting him, keeping him locked out – it's hard for her. And being kept out – that's hard for him.

"Sweetheart, please." He begs, finally giving up on the pounding and shouting, because it's hurting her.

She stops mid-sob and lets out a strangled gasp before the _click _of a turning lock echoes out loud, and then he is on his feet and opening the door, looking for her.

She is on the floor, against the wall, right beside the door. Her eyes are red and her entire face is red with a pale undertone, and her hair is all messed up and she looks small and delicate and broken.

And she is beautiful, because she is his.

He leans down, gathers her in his arms as her resolve weakens because she can't find it in herself to fight any longer. He holds her, and comforts her, and in the silence of the night, mends their broken hearts with simple words born of his new conviction.

"My Olivia."

And against the curve of his neck, _his _Olivia smiles.

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><p><strong>And this kicks off SWBI's Fringe Friday! I hope you all enjoyed this and if you did, don't forget to keep an eye out for this weekend's one-shots, the finale to this round of the SWBI.<strong>

**Also, don't forget to share your thoughts! Reviews are like candy canes for those starving Christmas-junkies! (And, yes, I happen to be a starving Christmas junkie. So give me candy! Oh, wait. Give me reviews!) For more information on the SWBI, don't forget to hit up my homepage and Twitter.**

_**E Salvatore,**_

_**December 2011.**_

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><p><strong>The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!<strong>


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